


Disorientated

by Sodafly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodafly/pseuds/Sodafly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Change is important of the plan'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disorientated

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Happy Valentines Day, allow me to be a bastard and break your heart. This will definitely not be the last post-Reichenbach fic I write because they’re actually rather fun to do. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to everyone by writing porn or something later.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Seb’s hair is blonde. A dirty, messy blonde which would really be light brown if it really had enough effort to darken just a couple of shades. In the summer or when living for long periods in the sun, his hair would bleach, turning it into a shade which all the surfer boys used to have when he spent his teenage summers down in Cornwall with his cousins and their friends. Fuck he hated those boys, smelling of sea water and trying to grow dreadlocks. Seb used to swim under the sea water, stalking like a predator before latching onto one of the unsuspecting boy’s ankle and dragging them bellow the salty foam. He would let go almost instantly after pushing off their shoulders and rocketing to the surface.

In the army, Seb had his blonde hair cut short in order to suit army regulations. It stuck out in places, messy and fluffy when washed.  It was sandy back then, not bleached teenage surfer any more.

When in the jungle it had grown slightly longer but Seb made sure to keep short enough so it didn’t get in his eyes. It was easy to hack off unruly strands of the much darker blonde hair with a blunt shaving blade and not care about what it looked like, when holed up in a native tribes with dirt smeared all over his face and tiger blood under his finger nails.

Now in the present day, Sebastian’s hair is neater again, slightly longer but easy to tuck out of the way of his vision. It’s swept to the side, with the left patch by his ear and the back completely shaved off. He likes it this way. It’s soft when he washes it and smells delightful. It’s long enough to have fingers running through it, delving, griping tight and pulling, nails clawing his scalp and making a pleasure run down his spine.  Sebastian will sit, like he does now, back against the sofa with fingers idly stroke his hair as if he is a pet. 

Then again, he is Jim Moriarty’s pet when he thinks about it.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“Jim, where are the hair clippers?” Seb shouts one evening, storming from his bedroom with a small black wash bag in his hand. Seb cuts his own hair and has done since the jungle, neatly snipping the longer part of his hair with specialist scissor and shaving off the chosen parts with a pair of electric hair clippers.

“Oh them....I threw them out.” Jim says not looking away from the television. He’s curled up on the sofa watching University Challenge and eating leftover noodles. Seb blinks, then frowns, then cocks his head to the side.

“Why?” Jim circles his hand as he chews and Seb waits patiently.

“Because” Jim’s mouth is still filled with noodles but obviously they are chewed down enough to be able to talk around “I don’t want you to shave or cut your hair properly for a while.”

“This isn’t a game of twenty fucking questions Jim, why the hell are you suddenly controlling my hair?” Seb snarled angrily. His hair is probably the one thing Sebastian actually has control over. Everyday it’s ‘Seb wear this, Seb eat that, Seb kill this man, Seb use this body wash the other one smells rancid’ from Jim and his hair and his weapons are the only things Jim doesn’t govern over like a paranoid dictator.

Jim rolls his eyes, playing about with his noodles for a bit as he decided whether or not to take an extra bite.

“It’s for a plan and for fuck’s sake keep your skirt on Sebastian” 

Seb chews on the inside of cheek and deliberates on throwing the empty black wash bag at Jim’s face, before deciding the action would be childish. He stomps back into his room instead, much to Jim’s amusement.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“I hate it already.” Seb says dejectedly, screwing his nose up as Jim waves the over the counter hair dye in his face.

“You don’t even know what it will look like.” Jim says in that mater-of-fact voice, but Seb isn’t buying it. He stares at the blue box, looking at the large mouthed woman and then to the angular faced man looking pointedly at her neck and then to the shiny black hair they both have.  Black hair dye, black hair dye which meant to go on Sebastian’s hair in any second.

“I still don’t see why I have to do this.” Seb protests.

His hair is already turning into a mop on his head and he’s certain that Jim has been replacing the shampoo he buys because every time he comes out of the shower his hair grows curlier and curlier. It gets in the way when looking down a gun scope, constantly blowing in the way of his eyes and the thickness of it makes Sebastian’s head feel heavy. Employees didn’t even try to hide their sniggers and jibes as Sebastian’s increasingly boyish hair cut as he attends his rounds at safe houses to give them orders. It only took one bad day and one outspoken insult to have Sebastian pinning whoever the idiot was belly to the wall with a knife against his neck.  Order was quickly resorted and not a single person spoke about hair in Sebastian’s presence ever again.

Of course it needed neatening up , and once every six weeks Jim would sit Seb down  at the dinner table and snip with precision at the coiling locks, catching Sebastian’s grumbles and choosing not to the trust the sniper with a pair of his own scissors.

“I thought you liked my hair?” The extra protest is added as a grumble

“Oh I do, the golden retriever look suits you.”  Jim says in that voice he uses every time Sebastian speaks out against his hair. He grabs Sebastian by the shoulders and pushes him forcefully down into the chair. “But change is important for the plan.”

The conversation was over.  Jim gets to work.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“It’s for the plan.” Jim repeats for the hundredth time, attacking Sebastian’s face with a skin coloured paste. Foundation, to cover up the scar on Sebastian’s cheek and Seb starts to wonder why Jim actually has this stuff in the second draw of his wardrobe but is wise enough not to ask.

Now Seb’s hair is longer, curlier and black. The dye had only been there a couple of days and it still swirled in ribbons down the plug hole when he showered and it still made his scalp itch. If his own mother was to cross him on the street she wouldn’t be able to recognise him, hell sometimes he can’t recognise himself when he looks in the mirror in the morning. 

Seb waits silently as Jim fusses with his face, humming along to Lady Gaga of all fucking things. 

Lately Jim has been distant, not talking for days on end and only emerging from his office to eat whatever Seb attempts to cook for him. One day, when Seb returns home after trying to keep the steadily increasing unstable network afloat, he finds Jim collapsed on the floor. He panics for a second, hoping it’s not over dosage or an attempt of suicide only to find Jim is simply exhausted from lack of sleep and food and scooping the light weight into his arms he carries the consulting criminal to bed.

Jim is asleep for days. Waking up now and again wanting water and something to eat before falling back to sleep. Seb is certain he’s unwell, but Jim denies it, simply stating that he has a problem that must be solved.

“Sebastian!” The call wakes Sebastian one Friday morning and he propels himself from bed, stumbling a little startled into Jim’s bedroom. Jim is finally out of bed, stood by the window dressed in his favourite black suit and fastening cufflinks to his shirt.

“Grab your coat darling we’ve got a plan to uphold.”

__________________________________________________________________________________

Kidnapping children is easy and keeping them entertained is even easier. Seb simply dumps a black trash bag filled with poisonous chocolate sweets in the middle of the factory floor and sits back as they gorge themselves.

Sitting back on a plastic milk crate, Sebastian keeps an eye on the two children, smoking cigarette after cigarette because although he’s a cold hearted killers there is something about slowly killing children which sets his nerves on edge. 

“If the detective is any good.” Jim says fussing with Sebastian’s hair and pulling up the collar on the new coat he’s bought for his sniper, smudging the foundation covering his scar a little more “Then those kiddies won’t die.”

Jim’s easiness doesn’t baffle Seb. Jim works differently from other people, hops about on a different wavelength and Sebastian doesn’t pretend to understand.

The children don’t cause much fuss, apart from the crying which makes Sebastian’s skin crawl and the boy who kept trying to make a run for it during the first couple of hours. Seb would kick away his milk crate, haul the struggling child into his arms and throw him....gently back to his sister. Cursing under his breath he’d pile on another load of plastic wrapped sweets and upright the milk crate to resume his sitting. It wasn’t long until they gave up, kneeling on the cold floor with fists filled with chocolate. It’s sickening really.

Eventually in the night Seb gets a text stating that the police were on their way and it was time to make a run for it. Seb instantly pocketed the phone, licking his fingers to snuff out the burning candle.  He whispered his goodbyes to the girl who was the only one still awake, saying joyfully that she would see him soon before throwing himself out of the nearest window.  The long black trench coat he is wearing flutters in the wind as he scales a wired fence, but the high collar hides the majority of his face perfectly as blue flashing lights whirl round the corner. They sail straight passed Sebastian without even noting his presence.

Smirking, Seb shrugs off the coat and gives it to a homeless man curled up in a doorway as he was instructed to do before catching a cab home.

It’s only later, after he’s pinned Jim against the wall and fucked him, does he find out what the plan was all about.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Seb wants to cut his hair that night, especially now that he knows what it was all for.

Jim declines the request, stating that the problem is not yet solved.

Seb doesn’t ask question, simply snarls and spits into the sink every time he looks in the mirror and see’s Sherlock Holmes staring back.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Seb’s life has been pushed into overdrive. True he never had a relaxed life style before but now it was twice as difficult. He made his rounds quickly to the safe houses, issuing orders which were few these days before catching a cab to Baker Street. Jim had bought the flat opposite to 221B as well as three others on the same street and instructed Seb to play a little came of ‘cross annihilation’. If anyone of the three other employees attempted to get in contact with Sherlock Holmes he shot them.  One...maybe two bullets and the job was done; he would pack up and move on.

He still had assassinations to carry out, although they seemed petty nowadays and Jim didn’t really seem to care about his old clients anymore.  Jim didn’t seem to care about anything anymore.

One day Jim disappeared, leaving the usually closed door to his office open and a note on the fridge saying _‘don’t use the computers for anything dirty ; )’_.

 Seb scowls and yet again decides he hates being left in the dark of Jim’s plans because how is he meant to do his job of protecting Jim when he doesn’t have a clue where he is?

Seb doesn’t venture into the office and still continues to tiptoe passed the open door like he’s done the entire time he lived with Jim. Old habits die hard. Seb doesn’t even attempt to cut his hair, even if he’s entertained the idea more than once. He pulls it hard sometimes, teasing the scissor blade down the length of one coil but doesn’t cut.

He still snarls at his reflection every time he sees it.

After two days Jim returns home. Seb is exhausted having spent the whole day running an organization which is starting to fall apart and collapsed straight into bed as soon as he got home, not bothering to undress.

He wakes to a warm, wet feeling. Seb opens his eyes sluggishly, his normally alert reactions dulled from total lack of sleep. Jim his kneeling by the side of his bed, sucking on his finger and looking straight at Sebastian with large eyes. He doesn’t look tired, he looks happy.

Not a word is said as Jim surrenders Seb’s finger from his mouth and crawls on top of Seb, kissing his neck and sliding his t-shirt upwards. Seb sits up, arms wrapped loosely around Jim’s waist and leans forward to bite down harshly on Jim’s bottom lip.

They have sex, the same rough, fast paced sex they have had many times before with Jim gripping tightly to Seb’s black curly hair and pulling hard with a cry of ecstasy.

“I miss the blonde.” Jim yawns when they’re finished, tangled in Seb’s bed sheets as they share a cigarette.

“So do I.” Seb says, trying not to sound bitter and not needing to add on the fact that it was Jim who made him change it.

“It’ll wash out with time; it won’t be long until it’s returned to normal.” Jim mumbles, rolling over onto his side with his back to Seb and he reaches over to switch the bedside lamp off. Seb finishes the cigarette in the dark and throws the stub out of the open window.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Jim’s hair is always soft. Short but long enough to run your fingers through and to hell if it doesn’t look gorgeous when slicked back.  It’s the only part of Jim which doesn’t change like the ticking of a clock and Sebastian loves it.

Even now as Seb pads across the roof, coming to a stop with his feet shoulder width apart, Seb thinks about how much he likes that hair. Short black hair which is now matted with the blood coming out the back of his head. The growing pool of dark crimson liquid spreads over the tiles, licking against the sole of Seb’s boots as he walks forward. The sound of sirens surrounds the hospital but Seb takes his time.  They won’t check the roof for a while yet and all they will find is a large pool of blood with the DNA of Richard Brook. They won’t find the body, Seb will be damned if he lets them take the body.

As he takes a seat at Jim’s side on the patch of roof tiling which isn’t covered in blood, Seb fingers the lining of his jacket pocket.  He doesn’t know how to feel, so he feels what he feels best; which is nothing.

“You’re a selfish bastard you know that.” Seb states, finding a crumpled packet of cigarettes in his pocket and deciding that now would be a brilliant time to have one. He searches for a lighter in the inside of Jim’s suit pocket and finds one near his breast. He doesn’t look at Jim’s face, doesn’t look at the dull large eyes staring unblinking at the sky.

“Always have been a selfish, manipulative bastard who didn’t give a single shit about how other people felt.”He inhales and exhales, not realising that his breath is shaky.

“Not that I blame you, fuck I wish I could be like that, it would be fun to not give a damn about what _you_ of all people thought about me.”  Seb knows there is no point taking Jim’s pulse but he can’t help himself. He feels no throbbing at the other’s neck and continues to feel nothing about the situation.  Cigarette perched in the corner of his mouth; Seb slides two fingers over Jim’s eyes, closing them for the last time.  Rising onto one knee, Sebastian leans and says

“So where to boss? The fire of the Thames?”

__________________________________________________________________________________

The blood doesn’t come off easily and it’s only as Sebastian his scrubbing his hands back at the apartment does it really hit him that Jim is dead.

He scrubs so hard that his skin rips off in flakes.

He doesn’t realise that he’s crying.

__________________________________________________________________________________

It would have been nice to say it hurt, but it didn’t. Sebastian’s numbness was disheartening but he had to keep going. The web was falling apart. Employees and clients turned to Sebastian for help, help which only Jim could provide and Jim wasn’t here anymore.

Seb didn’t what he could, he killed traitors, he stole and tortured and did everything he was programmed to do. But he didn’t have Jim’s calculating brain and soon clients left and Seb allowed them to.

Throughout it all, there was no real time for grieving, although Seb was already drowning in it in his own special way.

The hair dye is fading now, still escaping down the plug hole as he showers, but still too dark for his liking.

For a while when Sebastian looks in the mirror he doesn’t feel anything. Sherlock Holmes still looks back at him but it’s like looking back into the past and Seb expects Jim to burst in at any moment without a care in the world to take a shower, or to brush his teeth or to push Sebastian out so he can take a piss. But Jim doesn’t come because Jim is gone.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Anger hits Sebastian a couple of weeks later. He’s at a loss as to what to do and living in this once shared apartment is not helping to ease his nerves. He smokes so many cigarettes that his lungs will clog up with tar and ash and the nicotine addictions surges through his veins. He’s killing himself, slowly but surely as he had promised never to attempt suicide ever again.  

He doesn’t know why he still keeps his promises to Jim. Maybe some loyalties are so strong they pass over from the grave.

But one day when Sebastian looks into the mirror he finally finds the reason.  Overwhelmed, Sebastian cries out, punching the mirror out of rage. The mirror cracks and a shard clatters into the sink billow.

Blood floods over his knuckles, pooling around the tiny fragments buried in his skin. Seb sobs in pain and anger, no tears just a contraction in his throat which hurts as he mewls like a wounded tiger. Using tweezers he digs the fragments out of his hand, fingers shaking as he lays them neatly on a wad of toilet paper and the pain is almost comforting.

The wounds bleed heavily for a while, droplets of blood falling onto the white tiles and it hurts to move his fingers. Seb curses, wrapping his hand in a bandage and watching as crimson flowers bloom on the white cloth. It aches and throbs and the bloody wounds will scar when healed.

If Jim was here, he would look at Seb’s hand, tut and then kiss the bandage if he was in a good mood.

“You’re a fucking dickhead” Seb says, wanting to hate Jim for leaving but finding that he can’t. “You said I needed a fucking purpose and I don’t know what to do now Jim, I just don’t know what you fucking want me to do.”

His fists ball in his hair and he pulls. Breathing heavily, Seb looks into the cracked mirror, glaring at the fragments of the reflection which isn’t his. He then looks to the window where daylight comes through the frosted window pane. Smiling, Seb snatches a pair of scissors from the wooden window sill.

He looks at Sherlock Holmes whose imagine is distorted in the cracked mirror and this time his hands are perfectly steady as he closes the scissor blades over the first lock of hair. There is desperation, the kind which filled Seb’s veins with something a hell lot better than nicotine as he snips blindly. At the end of it, the bathroom floor is covered with locks of fading black hair. Dropping the scissors to the floor, Seb scrubs his head with a towel, filled with a determination he hasn’t felt since Jim’s death.

The electric hair clippers are still nowhere to be found but this time that isn’t going to stop Seb from having what he wants. He grabs a second, full length mirror and places it at the other end of the bathroom behind his back, angling the hand held mirror so that it catches the reflection of the full length.  Feeling like an unruly teenager, Seb picks up a bottle of shaving foam and his own shaving razor, applying the foam to the left side and the back of his head.

The shaving razor hurts his scalp and he accidently snags his skin on the blade a couple of times, blood running down his neck and staining his scalp. It makes his head sting but when the hair clogged razor blade falls from his hand and Seb runs his fingers over the newly shaved patch he can’t help but laugh.

Laugh with relief because after hours of work Sherlock Holmes is no longer lurking in his reflection.

 


End file.
